


The Streets Under Our Feet

by neymarsus (Starksus)



Category: Football RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Alternate Universe, Humor, M/M, The Violence Isn't Too Violent Don't Worry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-13 18:55:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11191305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starksus/pseuds/neymarsus
Summary: Neymar is an amateur footballer with some regrets and Leo is a street fighter with some issues. There are a lot of dark alleys involved.





	1. Neymar & The Concussion

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I know nothing about street fights.

Neymar doesn’t like the term ‘ _amateur footballer’_ mainly because it makes him sound like he is some starving teenager, who is more concerned with kicking the ball than making enough money to try to survive. And while some of this description does apply to his life, he likes to think that a more fitting term could be ‘ _future ballon d’or winner_ ’.

Neymar is nothing but a firm believer that he is going to become a professional footballer. He has the skills, the hair and the determination for it. It is just matter of time before the bare patched pitches where he plays become crowded football stadiums, really, he can already picture his own snapback brand. He is going to be _that_ big.

But at the time being, where he is a starving twenty years old who just finished kicking the ball for the last three and a half hours and is now heading home without enough money on his pocket to take the bus, he is starting to regret some of his life choices. Especially those who lead him to the middle of a street fight.

It says a lot about the volume of his inner voice that he doesn’t hear the crowd’s chanting ‘till the moment he finds himself right in the middle of it. Gross sweaty men push him from side to side like he is some kind of rag doll, making him stumble onto his feet.

It is a miracle that he does not fall, and just when he thinks that he finally made it out of it, he realizes that no, that’s the fight happening right in front of him and a fist is coming his way.

Neymar doesn’t feel the hit as much as he feels his legs tangling over themselves and his skull hitting the cold hard floor. There is a sudden startled silence that surrounds him, but it doesn’t last long before manic cackling roars through the crowd, and the bright blush that spreads on his cheeks matches his bleeding nose.

The person who injured him steps around him without even looking down, leaving Neymar glued to the spot. Three seconds later the chanting has only gone wilder and his whole face number, there is a counting going down, he thinks, probably the seconds left before he passes out.

He leans over his scratched elbows, hissing slowly at the hot pain, and sees a boy collapsing into the ground, sending the crowd into loud cheers.

The people starts to dissipate soon after the passed out boy is carried away, different sizes of shoes step all over Neymar until the street clears and he finally is left alone to die.

His mom will probably go into cardiac arrest when she reads the papers next morning. He can picture the headline in his mind, the tragic death of who was meant to be the next Brazilian star. His eyes water at the thought that he will probably be called an ‘amateur athlete’.

There is a light in front of his face that could either be the moon, the light from a streetlamp or the start of his ascension to heaven. With the constant increasing pain all over his limbs, he is inclined to believe in the later.

“You okay there?” a husky voice asks before a face he swears he has seen in model ads appears right in front of him, blocking the holy light. “I think he has a concussion. Well done, Leo”

“He doesn’t have a concussion,” Says a new voice and Neymar doesn’t have a doubt that this is heaven because the deepness of those brown eyes defeats every earthly law. “Come on, get up”

Neymar is offered a hand, and he takes it, every inch of his body protesting at the stretch. He is sure he read somewhere that angels aren’t supposed to bleed, but he is sure that there is dried blood in the angel’s knuckles.

“He is mumbling some shit about angels, dude”

“He _doesn’t_ have a concussion”

Promptly, Neymar throws up and passes out.

*

Neymar wakes up in an unknown sofa with a horrible headache, dried blood on his shirt and a very tall good looking person sitting at the end of said sofa watching the TV. He blinks slowly, surprisingly calm for someone who is facing their death, and clears his throat.

“Excuse me, is there water in here?” He asks; his tongue dry and heavy in his mouth.

Model dude turns to face him slowly; seemingly unfazed by Neymar and sighs. “Leo,” he calls out, his voice thick with an accent “he is awake and thirsty”

Neymar ignores his protesting back to sit properly on the couch and hears someone shout whispering from a distance “ _Well, give him some water then_ ”

Neymar blinks again and sees tall dude mumbling annoyed under his breath as he stands up to follow the command. A strangled sound escapes his mouth when he notices the stranger’s muscles flexing on his back and arms. He tries not to think about his own skinny limbs and wonders instead who could be barking orders at someone like that, but who knows how the hierarchies work in the afterlife.

He takes a look around. The space is reduced and poorly illuminated; the walls have cracks on them and are thin enough that he can hear what he identifies as the heavy traffic unfolding outside. The couch where he is sitting in worn down and sticky with what he can only hope not to be body fluids and the air smells heavily of rotten food.

Apparently his local church was right after all, he did go to hell.

Muscled Model reappears with a glass of water and a curious look on his stunningly blue eyes, the sight of his well-kept beard and ironed shirt making a contrast with the deteriorated state of the apartment.

“Here” He says, pushing the glass into Neymar’s hand and with a softer tone he asks “How are you feeling?”

Neymar drinks the water gratefully, letting it soothe his aching throat before cleaning the corner of his mouth after he chokes a little on it.

“Good, I think” he answers and then furrows his eyebrows, “Am I dead?”

“Thankfully, no”

He looks up at the source of the new voice and finds his tongue drying again. A boy with damp hair dressed in a hoodie and incredibly soft looking sweatpants walks into the room, and Neymar feels ready to pay for his sins.

 _‘Take me to church’_ he wants to say. Thankfully his mind is working slower than usual, and he doesn't manage to get the words out.

Tiny Angel gets in front of Neymar and kneels inches away from him, making his face prickle at the attention. After his eyes scan carefully every inch of Neymar’s face a small frown appears on his porcelain like skin. He opens his mouth but is interrupted by the loud voice of his tall friend.

“Man, do you think his nose has always had that penis like shape? Or did you break it? Because damn, Leo”

Neymar clasps his hands around his nose and regrets it the second they make contact with the swollen skin, squeaking an indignant “ _Heyyy_ ” colored with his pain.

“Geri” Tiny _\- Leo_ scolds.

Neymar who passed the indignation and numbing pain on his head finally realizes that he is very much alive and in possible hostage situation with two unfairly attractive young men.

His current situation could only lead to two possible scenarios. One could inspire an episode of Criminal Minds and the other rate five stars on a kinky porn site.

“Well," Geri? Starts, interrupting his wandering mind “We're glad that you’re fine and awake, please don’t press charges. See you around.”

Neymar blinks slowly. The unthinkable scenario number three happens: He is dismissed just like that.

He stands up, feeling a bit queasy and opens his mouth, to say what he isn't sure, but closes it as soon as Leo raises both eyebrows at him with exasperation written all over his face. Rude.

With furrowed eyebrows he turns towards the door and leaves.

The outside of the apartment complex isn’t a tad cleaner than the inside, and it also has several illumination issues. Thankfully, he recognizes his surroundings, just a few blocks away from where the fight happened; therefore he is relatively close to his own shitty apartment.

When he arrives he expects to find Rafinha waiting for him, sick worried that its way past midnight and Neymar’s cellphone had died hours ago.

Instead his so called irmão is passed out on the couch, snoring loudly and with an empty can of coke in one hand.

If he had any energy left, he would probably find it on himself to be a little offended, as he is now he just walks into his bedroom and throws himself face first on top of his bed.

Not even the protesting pain on his nose can take the sleep away from him.

*

Next morning Rafinha is very unamused when Neymar rambles about what happened to him the night before. He just takes a minute to comment that, yeah, his nose does kind of look like a penis.

Neymar thinks he deserves better friends.

*

Neymar has very deliberately avoided walking back home after his football practice, and if he has to sleep less and work a few extra shifts to make up for it then, it is what it is.

It’s not that he is a paranoid person, but he like his face as it is – penis nose or not – and he would rather not have it modified any time soon.

So Neymar Jr. is definitely not paranoid but sadly he is weak, and can’t resist it when he passes next to the coffee shop and sees his beloved Brazilian brigadeiros through the shop’s window with an expression that most would save for their lovers.

And he knows that they are expensive; he knows that he won’t have enough money for the bus if he buys them, but they taste so much like home and he also deserves nice things, alright? So he buys the damn brigadeiros.

They are fucking worth it. Or so he thinks until the moment he comes face to face with a large crowd that brings a sense of déjà vu and makes him stop right on his track.

It is not the same alley than before - he knows this, he left his blood and puke on it. But the lack of illumination and the lingering smell of piss and sweat is the same. Thankfully this time he managed to pick on the situation before getting sucked into the vortex of screaming men.

He looks at the brigadeiro on his right hand, ready to be eaten, and decides to tuck it back on the paper bag.

It will not end smashed. _He_ will not end smashed. Not again.

A sudden roar smacks Neymar out of his own thoughts and then he hears the countdown, loud and steady, getting more desperate the closest it gets to zero. When it does, there are fist in the air and caps being thrown, a lot of cursing and a few angry kicks and spits on the ground. Neymar is properly grossed out.

After that, just like last time, the crowd starts to dissipate, and the street goes back to his lonely and quiet form, perhaps dirtier than most but nothing outrageous that would startle the casual walker.

He takes a minute to appreciate the fact that he is still standing without a drop of his own fluids tinting his clothes. He feels very proud of himself and ready to head home and brag to Rafinha about his accomplishment when he notices a tiny figure resting against a wall.

The thought of another poor soul being hurt the way he was a week ago makes his brows immediately furrow in concern, without a second thought he walks in their direction, ready to help and prevent any possible form of abduction from happening. He is very determinate on his step just to find that the person couldn’t possibly be abducted because they are the abductor.

With his head resting against the wall, closed eyelids that cast shadows over sharp cheekbones and hands folded delicately over crossed legs is Tiny Angel, known to the mortals as Leo, remembered by Neymar as the abductor and recurring star of some of his past dreams – nightmares, obviously.

“You need something?” Neymar watches thin lips forming the words, but it takes him a second too long to process that they are directed at him. With his eyes still closed and at Neymar’s lack of response, Leo raises a challenging eyebrow and says. “Or do you just like to stare at strangers, kind of creepy, isn’t it?”

“No creepier than taking passed out strangers into my home.” Neymar Jr. is determinate, skilled and bitter. That will be the description on his Wikipedia page.

At this Leo open his eyes, the poor light of the streetlamp making them look darker. Neymar doesn’t remember the exact details of their last encounter but he remembers thinking that those eyes were too deep to belong to earth. He is starting to wonder just how hard he was hit.

He watches the realization flicker on Leo’s eyes. “Oh,“ he whispers and then his face goes completely expressionless, his features looking like they are carved in. Neymar is enough of a man to admit that it is some scary shit. ”I thought you’d learn not to wander on these streets by yourself. They are quite dangerous, haven’t you realized?”

With that he stands up as if to make his statement firmer, but all Neymar notices – with great delight, he must add – is that Leo is a few inches shorter than him. He has a comment about that at the tip of his tongue, but he ends up biting it when star number two of his dreams appears from behind him.

“Who’s this?” Is what he says, and he isn’t even looking at Neymar but he opens his mouth to reply anyway just for the man to recognize him and exclaim, “Wait! It’s Penis nose!”

Neymar wants to groan, he does. He is ignored.  And says in the calmer voice he can muster “My name is Neymar.” He is ignored again.

Beard Man laughes loudly while Leo is casting a disapproving glance at him. Neymar is just glad that there is an emotion back on the tiny man’s face.

“I’m Gerard by the way. Geri to my friends” The tall man introduces himself after his booming laughter has finally died, extending a hand on his direction with a smile still present on his face. “But since we are not friends you must call me Pique”

Neymar shakes his hand uncertainly and debates saying his name once again but Pique doesn’t spare him his attention much longer and turns back to Leo after one shake.  “I already collected. Good fight, Leo.”

“As always. Geri” Leo replies, shrugging, seemingly unmoved by the compliment.

That’s the moment something inside Neymar’s slow brain clicks. “Wait, you are one of the street fighters?”

Leo gives him a look of disbelief. “Are you just realizing that?” he looks at the floor with a prominent frown on his forehead and mumbles in a low voice.  “Maybe I did cause you a concussion.”

“I told you so.” Neymar hears Pique mutter.

 And yeah, he vaguely remembers Leo saying something about being the one breaking his nose but on his defense he was waking up from a concussion-induced dream which was caused by Leo, the abductor _and_ street fighter.

Now is Neymar’s turn to frown. There is something that simply doesn’t add up, he looks at Leo with his messy hair and expectant expression and arms crossed defiantly over his small frame, making him look very much like a lion cub and - There it is, the reason for his disbelief.

“But you are so tiny.”

“What the fuck.” Says Leo, every pore of his face radiating offence and next to him Pique huffs a surprised chuckle that makes him scold harder. “I’m not _tiny_ , you are not even very tall yourself”

“My height is pretty average.” Neymar replies without missing a beat, curiosity starts to fill him and he can’t help asking “And you win? In your fights I mean.”

Leo’s expression transforms into a confident one. “Every single one.”

“Are you fighting children?”

A vein jumps in Leo’s jaw and Neymar wants to bite his tongue and choke on it. Leo’s face is back to expressionless when he takes a step forward and Pique presses a hand against his chest to try to stop him from coming all over Neymar, but he bats it away easily and comes face to face with him.

He has to look up to catch Neymar’s gaze something that should make him seem less intimidating, but it doesn’t soften for a second the hardness of his expression. “I never lose.”

Neymar believes him. “Sorry,” he manages to mutter ashamedly, and that seems to be enough for Leo, who takes a step back and no longer looks like he is two seconds from committing cold blood murder.

“Stop scaring the kid, Leo. Wasn’t the concussion enough?” Pique sighs, scratching his beard not looking too bothered. “I have to go, now. Mother is in the city and wants to meet for dinner, you sure you don’t want to come?”

“I’m not hungry” It’s Leo’s short reply.

Pique sighs and gives Leo one of those side arms hugs and a noisy kiss on the cheek that Leo pretends to be irritated at. He says pretend because the corner of Leo’s mouth twitch upwards and Neymar marvels at the way it such a small gesture makes Leo look brighter.

Feeling like a total creeper and not wanting to get caught staring Neymar looks away. Perhaps this is his cue to silently make his departure.

“All right there?”

He turns his attention back to Leo, the small smile has disappeared without a trace that it was ever there. He clears his throat. “Yeah, I’ll just get home now.”

Leo nods at him. “I will come with you.”

“Come with me where?” Neymar asks dumbly.

Leo just rolls his eyes and grabs him gently by the elbow. “Dangerous streets, remember?” His voice sounding annoyed and slurred like it is a chore to repeat himself. Neymar thinks he must not do it very often.

An uneven part of the street makes him stumble and is only Leo’s grip what prevents him from colliding face first into the concrete. Leo gives him an incredulous look but doesn’t comment.

Neymar pulls himself together and tries to hide the pink color he is sure its coloring his cheeks. It’s not his fault that he only has stability and grace with a ball between his feet, he thinks about telling Leo that and try to salvage some of his dignity, but at the end he thinks it’s better not to push it and accept Leo’s silence.

Not that he likes silence, in fact, prolonged silences unnerve him, and especially it seems when they are accompanied with Leo’s blank face. Biting his tongue to stop himself from blurting out things that could probably get him murdered on the isolated streets, he occupies his mind with making sure that he is taking the right turns. A small voice in the back of his head is asking him if it is wise of him to let Leo know where he lives. Neymar is so used to ignoring it that he doesn’t think much of it.

Like, yeah, for all Neymar knows Leo could be a serial killer but then again if he wanted to murder him he could have done it when Neymar was passed out on his couch.

So Neymar continues guiding Leo down the lonely and quiet streets, the occasional cat meowing and too loud pop music from the buildings they pass the only responsible from disturbing the peace.

Spain looks quite beautiful at this time, even in the shitty neighborhood they are at. Neymar can see the sky darkening, the precious rays of sunshine painting the sky with bright colors before the night arrives, he thinks about his mom and sister who even though they are miles away they will always share the same sky.

And suddenly, Neymar hears this noise, loud and close enough to him to make him stop on his track.

He turns to look at Leo, mouth a little open, and finds him with a blank expression and rosy cheeks Neymar is sure aren’t from the cold.

“I thought you weren’t hungry.” Neymar says quietly, turning to look at Leo who is pressing his lips into a fine line confirming that yeah, his stomach made that noise.

Leo doesn’t say anything and tries to keep on walking but Neymar won’t budge.

“Here.” He says, taking a brigadeiro from his paper bag.

Neymar is getting too used to Leo's looks of disbelief; this one in particular has written all over it that he is trying to decipher what even is Neymar. Or maybe, he has never seen a brigadeiro before, which is actually really plausible as it’s a sweet mostly popular between Brazilians.

Ten uncomfortable seconds after Leo blinks way too slowly in Neymar’s direction he accepts the sweet and murmurs. “Thanks”

“It’s no big deal, just eat the sweet.” Neymar shrugs.

For Neymar it kind of is a big deal, but he doesn’t tell Leo that. Leo looks like he could use something sweet in his life. Neymar’s money for the bus seems like a small place to pay for the way Leo’s eyes brighten the second he tastes the brigadeiro.

They resume their walk, in confortable silence for the first time while they enjoy their brigadeiros and a minute later they are standing in front of Neymar’s building.

Leo stands in front of Neymar, his eyes a deep brown and his posture firm. “Listen, Omar –“

“- It’s Neymar.” He corrects with an affronted scold.

Leo gives him an exasperated look. “That’s what I said.” That is _not_ what he said.

“I’m sorry for the whole,” Leo says gesturing vaguely to his face, “but no hard feelings, right”

Neymar is silent for a few seconds while Leo stares expectantly at him. He feels kind of at lost but then he looks at Leo in his ratty shirt and wore down shoes. Leo, who lives in a horrendous apartment and whose stomach growled loudly minutes after telling his friend he wasn’t hungry.

And Neymar realizes that he probably thinks that he could go to the police or something. He did abduct him after all, and participates in illegal fights.

“No hard feelings.” Neymar reassures.

Leo nods shortly and turns around to leave. Neymar waits until he sees his figure disappear.


	2. Neymar & The Cooking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I have seen you set pasta on fire. Pasta that was submerged in water” Rafinha accuses on a high pitched voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: The Violence tag makes an appearance.

“Are you fucking cooking?”

Rafinha’s voice makes Neymar yelp and drop the knife on the floor. He turns to glare at his nosy friend.

“Yes, I’m fucking cooking” He picks up the knife and goes back to his business, completely ignoring the wide eyed look on Rafa’s face. He looks more shocked than the time he found Neymar having a threesome on his bed. Honestly, Rafa needs to reconsider his shock scale.

“You can’t cook”

“I can,” he huffs while he finishes the second sandwich. It is looking good, really good, he is sure Gordon Ramsey would approve. “I can fucking cook if I please, I just never feel like it. Stop being a bitch”

“I have seen you set pasta on fire. Pasta that was submerged in water” Rafinha accuses on a high pitched voice.

“I just,” Neymar starts saying, feeling frustrated, “I can’t cook when there is like, fire involved. These are sandwiches, my mom taught me how to make them, ok? They are good”

There must be something on his face that reflects how uncomfortable he is getting with the conversation because Rafa’s expression softens.

“If you are really that broke I could invite you to lunch”

Neymar groans loudly, he doesn’t have time to deal with Rafinha’s condescending princess ass. He puts his very not on fire sandwiches inside of his favorite container before hurrying out of their apartment, not even bothering to clean the mess he left in the kitchen, which he is sure Rafa would clean now because he is a clean freak.

He would feel guilty for endangering the perfect state of Rafa’s manicure if he wasn’t too busy internally freaking out by the fact that he had no real reason to reconnect with the kitchen to make those two sandwiches.

Neymar can’t even blame his friend for looking so surprised, he is plenty sure he hasn’t attempted to do anything related to cooking since the pasta accident on their first week of living together. Which was a really long time ago and Rafinha definitely needs to stop living in the past.

Like Neymar, who has moved on and now he makes his own sandwiches, because he wants to, because he can. _Right._

He blames it all on his sleep deprived brain and overworked ass, and somehow, between rushing from class to class, his part-time job and hectic routine, he manages not to think about it until right after he finishes his football training and his growling stomach can’t be ignored any longer.

Neymar takes the container carefully out of his bag and stares at the two sandwiches inside. Two. He made two sandwiches this morning. He woke up earlier and everything because of it.

Neymar stares at the sandwich. He swears the sandwich stares right back at him.

He shakes his head to clear his thoughts, mans up and takes a bite out of one of the sandwiches. The second one stays inside of the container judging Neymar, because it has an owner too, it was made for someone to enjoy it and bite on it. And that someone isn’t Neymar.

He can’t believe he is freaking out over a sandwich. A sandwich that remains unbitten, unenjoyed and judgmental.

Neymar needs more sleep.

After another bite that feels like paper sand on his mouth he packs the rest of his afternoon snack and heads out.

To where, that’s another big question in the life of Neymar Jr., which is becoming more of an enigma with every passing day. His autobiography will have so many intriguing chapters.

The bad side of the town seems like a good please to start looking for a fight - the bad side of town obviously being where Neymar’s neighborhood is. After all, he has encountered all of them on his walk back home.

He wonders how other people manage to locate them, if there is some kind of system or an app to find them. Yes, an app would be very useful. Now that he is into this he should probably do some research too, like rewatch ‘ _Fight Club’_.

Two well-built sweaty men are coming his way, involved with each other in a heated conversation that Neymar can still hear despite their distance.

“I told you that _La Pulga_ knew how to hold himself.” Spits the one with an impressive moustache. Neymar wishes he could grow facial hair like that.

“How the fuck was I supposed to know that he could fight like that, the kid looks like a fairy.” Replies a shorter man. No moustache or any facial hair for that matter, just shiny bald.

“If you would have listened to me -“

“Eh, excuse me?” Neymar interrupts now that he is close enough to be heard.

Both men turn to look at him. They seem bigger and smell sweatier up close. “Do any of you know where I could locate the fight, one of those that usually happen close to these streets and around this time, and people watch the, um, fighting?”

“You with the fucking police, kid?” Grumpy bald asks immediately and Neymar startles.

“No, um, sir, I just, a friend of mine-“

“For fucks sake, Javier, if you think he is with the police, why would you curse at him?” Neymar notices that the moustache moves distractingly while the man talks. He decides not to comment on it. “The fight already ended, but at the end of this street turn to the right. See if your friend is still waiting for you.”

Neymar nods gratefully and rushes into the direction that was pointed to him before bald Javier can add anything else. Why does everyone think that Neymar is going to rat them out? He doesn’t think he has one of _those faces_.

He is about to make the turn to the right when he collides into someone, managing to send his unbalanced ass right into the floor.

“You again” He fixes his hair and looks up. Bored tone, pale skin and money in hand, is Leo. “Twice is a coincidence but three is a pattern.”

Neymar bites his lower lip, hands still on the floor he looks at Leo’s guarded expression and tries to come with an explanation that doesn’t make him look like a stalker – or like he is working for the fucking police.

“I brought you something.” is what his mouth decides to blurt out.

Leo arches a mildly curious brow, and Neymar moves slowly under the weight of his gaze to reach for his bag and the container in it. He clears his throat and stands up as graciously as he can manage, shaking the dirt from the back of his pants with the hand that isn’t holding the container.

“For you.” He says and pushes his baked goods right under Leo’s nose. When Leo looks at him with surprised eyes, Neymar hopes he finds friendliness on his face and no creepy stalker, possible police helper, vibes.

“You brought me food?” Leo asks with an uncertain tone. As if Neymar would give him an empty container. He can only nod and watch as Leo opens it, his face no changing to the pleased one Neymar has been looking forward to. “You brought me half eaten food.”

“What.” He snatches the container back and looks at his bitten sandwich lying on top of Leo’s. Not the most appetizing look, he must admit. He blushes against his will and takes his leftover sandwich before he offers Leo the one meant for him. “That was mine; this one is yours.”

He can’t read the expression on Leo’s face, either because of the night arriving or because his face is actually made of marble. Either way, whatever emotion was going through him at the end he just decides to take a bite, and – and he moans.

Neymar swears that’s a moan that escapes Leo’s mouth and vibrates against the floor.

“This is good.” Leo says appreciatively around a mouthful.

Neymar nods at him with his jaw slack, trying to ignore the foggy sensation that is numbing his senses.

He knows that even though he told Shiny Bald and Moving Moustache that Leo and he are friends, that that is far from the truth and Neymar is sure that having inappropriate thoughts about your former kidnapper is against some social rule.

Neymar is about to take a bite of his own culinary masterpiece when he feels a vibration on his thigh that makes him jump and send said masterpiece flying out of his hand and collapsing into the floor. He looks at it with nothing but shame and a watered mouth.

“You dropped that” Leo says because he is a rude person with no sympathy, or because he thinks Neymar is a dumb fuck.

“Thanks, I kind of noticed” He grits out, still mourning his lost.

Leo doesn’t say anything to that and instead occupies his mouth with sucking his fingers, having devoured the sandwich. The sight of Leo’s pink tongue poking out to give the corner of his mouth a little lick is just another proof that Leo obviously has no respect for Neymar.

Biting the inside of his cheek to prevent any possible inappropriate sound or comment to escape him, he takes his phone out of his pocket and reads the message that caused the tragedy.

_Where are u ? u gonna miss the kardashians – rafa x_

“Important stuff.” Leo says from where he is standing on his tiptoes to peek at Neymar’s phone screen, which is extremely rude and impolite as well as extremely cute. “Now give me your phone.”

Neymar’s hand stills around his phone. He can’t believe he is getting robbed so casually.

Leo’s eyes move from the screen to his eyes, and there must be something on his face that gives away what he thought, or maybe he said it aloud – wouldn’t be the first time – because Leo looks at him as though Neymar is stupid.

“To give you my number. Why would you-,” He narrows his eyes at him, “You should work on your filter”

Neymar blinks, hand relaxing and passing him the phone “So I have been told”

He looks at Leo’s finger moving quickly over the screen before he hands the phone back, “I messaged myself”

Leo doesn’t offer any further explanation and Neymar wants to ask what for or why, but Leo is already moving past him in the opposite direction of Neymar’s building. “I have plans. Try not to get yourself abducted”

He doesn’t turn back once, and Neymar doesn’t move until he can’t see him anymore.

Neymar makes it home safely but he misses the first half of ‘ _Keeping up with the Kardashians’_ and he doesn’t trust Rafinha enough to give him a reliable resume.

He tries to Google search why Kim hit her sister with her designer purse, but he can’t find the reason behind that specific episode. The intrigues of his life just keep adding up.

*

Later that night his phone’s screen lights up with an upcoming message.

_From: Leo_

He bites his lower lip with anticipation and counts to three before opening it.

It’s a nose emoji.

Neymar thinks it’s safe to say that they are friends now.

*

Neymar is not one for violence, has never been, so it come as a bit of a shocker when he starts spending most of his afternoons tracking street fights around Spain.

It has been weeks since his appearances at Leo’s fights became regular, another plus to his routine. He always arrives after they are done and finds Leo waiting for him with that air of tranquility that makes his skin look brighter and an empty stomach that Neymar dutifully feeds.

It is not hardship, to make food for the two of them, even if he is running out of sandwiches receipts to make and he starts considering asking his mom for more, if only it wouldn’t raise many suspecting questions. All of it is totally worth it by the subtle yet mesmerizing expressions Leo makes whenever he gets the first taste for that day’s snack.

So he has never actually seen Leo fight, and he obviously isn’t counting their first encounter when he barely got a look at Leo’s fist before it made contact with his nose.

And he kind of has a hard time processing that Leo the fighter, known as _La Pulga,_ is the same Leo who sits with him on the relatively cleaner side of the streets to share sandwiches and listens to him ramble about anything from his childhood stories to his colorful complains about FC Barcelona’s board.

Leo has also made it his personal duty to walk Neymar to his building, something about Neymar lacking self-preservation or being a danger to society, he was too delighted to question Leo’s reasoning. And whenever he can’t take him, the curve of his mouth turns a little down with worry and he makes Neymar promise to text him as soon as he arrives.

He thinks it is not healthy that he feels so pleased to know Leo worries enough about him that it shows on his face.

Talking about health, that is something that Neymar is terribly lacking at the moment because he wakes up with a cold and the sensation that this might be his last day on earth. He is totally starting to regret not taking Leo’s sweater when he wordlessly offered it to him the day before. It’s just that – he looked _so soft_ wearing it.

Challenging death itself, he makes it through his lectures somehow successfully and he feels like crying when his coach takes a look at his face and runny nose and refuses to let him die running on the pitch.

The thought of going straight home and spending the afternoon whining to Rafa via pouty Snapchats just makes him feel more miserable, so he burrows his hands into the deep pockets of his jacket and starts an early journey in search of the day’s fight.

As usual Neymar doesn’t find the fight as much as the fight finds Neymar.

A small group of people conformed by loud teenagers are tripping over each other as they talk about the bets they will make, he decides to follow them right after Leo’s fighter nickname gets slipped into the conversation. He feels an odd sense of pride at the way the kid says it. Like you do with the name of someone you admire.

The alley of the day is one where they have been before, the locations seem pretty much chosen at random, skipping from one street to another without a clear pattern in order to avoid the police and only confirming the specifics with the fighters.

It also provides different crowds and Leo told him, one of those rare and magical nights when he felt like being the one doing the talk, that it helps when they hadn’t seen him fight before because most of the bets are made against him so he makes more when he beats his opponent’s ass.

The crowd for tonight goes from the usual sweaty men to the excited youngsters that don’t look completely legal, but despite Neymar's very youthful face he still manages to stand out thanks to the bright highlights at the end of his fringe.

He spots Geri easily – yes, during the lasts weeks he has climbed up to the _Geri zone_ – and moves in his direction.

“Hey Geri.” Neymar greets and then coughs in the back of his hand, the sound of his own raspy voice making him cringe.

“You are early.” Gerard says, nodding in acknowledgement and smiling in that slightly disturbing way that shows too many teeth.

Neymar nods back and he feels like it might be a tiny bit rude just to ask about Leo straight away when he just arrived, it’s not like he doesn’t enjoy Geri’s company but –

“He is in the back, but you should probably wait until after he is done.”

The toothy smile is no longer on his face and there is some sort of odd warning in his tone that Neymar completely dismisses. He sends a smile with no teeth involved in Geri’s direction before walking to where Gerard said Leo is.

The air is humid and it makes him feel uncomfortable under his collar, being sick is the absolutely worst. He fixes his hair and wills his runny nose to keep its fluids inside. It’s one thing to be dying and another to look like death.

As soon as he sees Leo he stops dead on his track.

He almost doesn’t recognize him, not because he looks any different, with his trademark black pants and dark sweater pulled over his head.

It’s because of the way he is standing, with his back rigid, small puffs of air coming rapidly out of his mouth and knuckles whitening with how hard he is closing his fists. He starts moving in circles at an incessant pace and eventually kicks the dirt with frustration, looking so much like some kind of caged animal that all the air leaves Neymar’s lungs.

“Leo?” He asks unsure, his voice is barely a whisper but it cuts into the air and makes Leo stop and look at him.

Leo looks beautiful, as always, but this time Neymar sees in him some kind of fierce beauty, like the one you would find in a white lion or some equally dangerous creature. He can’t stop the shiver that runs down his spine.

Neymar looks into his brown eyes, the ones that have always look dark and deep, but at that moment they are completely bottomless and Neymar feels like he could fall into them and drown.

He is so struck by the boy in front of him that he totally misses the huge man that sneaks from behind him and signalizes that it’s time to start, he leaves without more and Leo follows immediately after him.

Neymar has to catch his breath before doing the same.

Geri is sitting on top of a dumpster that might as well be some designer couch for the way he looks so casual lying on it. Neymar quickly moves to join him and after some embarrassing seconds where he struggles to push himself over it, Geri finally takes pity on him and offers him a hand.

The fight starts quickly after that. Someone introduces the fighters by their nicknames and bets start to take place.

Leo steps into the middle of the circle, a look so intense on his eyes that it would most likely make Neymar crumble to the ground if he ever was in the receiving end of it. But then the other fighter steps in and his stomach turns.

The other guy is, well, massive. He is only a little taller than Neymar, but he obviously is way more built and muscular and greasy. The kind of guy that makes you turns in a different direction when you see him coming your way. And it’s not that Neymar is usually this judgmental. But, he is pretty intimidated.

He casts a worried look at Geri and he only receives one of his white shark smiles. Neymar doesn’t think that that is the adequate expression to be wearing when you are seconds away from watching someone beat the shit out of your friend.

He is about to say something along those lines when the fight starts.

Neymar has a big imagination. Thoughts run freely through his brain, words collide into each other and letters scatter all over the place, he never wished to be any different but right in that moment he would change his skills with the ball for a chance to be skilled with description because he wants nothing more than to immortalize in poems, novels and books every detail about Leo, from the way he moves, to the thin layer of sweat covering his skin and the determination that is settled on his eyes.

Leo makes him think of a lion cub most times, with his feathery hair, ginger beard and small frame. But right now he looks more like the Lion King.

Neymar feels as if he should get on his knees for him – for several different reasons.

As he said, Neymar is not a violent person but it is not the bloodbath he was expecting, it is like he is watching some kind of theatrical dance. Leo is light on his feet, moving quickly and he does not give a chance for his opponent to react before he delivers his first attack.

It makes the other man stumble backwards, a look on his face that says the exact thing Neymar is thinking: how such force could come from such a small fist.

His apparent disbelief quickly transforms into rage but his reaction is too slow, and Leo hits him again, this time making contact with the side of his face, splitting his lip and making the guy turn to the side to spit some of the blood.

Leo is restless, energy bouncing out of him. Swiftly and without warning he strikes for the third time.

This time he makes the guy fall on his back, and Neymar’s ears are buzzing with the noises coming from the crowd and the blood pumping in them. He watches Leo go closer the man who takes the opportunity to kick him on the sheen and send Leo directly to floor.

Neymar gasps and he feels someone squeezing his hand, he knows it’s Geri so he doesn’t turn to look at him. He is glad he doesn’t because he would have missed how the guy rolls on his side and hits Leo before sitting on top of him to deliver a straight punch to his nose that has Neymar sucking in a breath.

Thankfully the only thing he can hear is the beating of his own heart because he thinks he would have passed out if he had heard the sound that escaped Leo’s lips combined with the pained expression on his face.

Leo recovers quickly though, and with an apparent undying force he manages to raise his knee hard, hitting the guy right on the crotch and making even the toughest looking man leave sounds of sympathy. After that he punches him repeatedly, so fast that Neymar would have missed it if he had remembered to blink.

And that is it. The guy can’t hold it anymore and falls to his side. Leo pushes himself to a sitting position and looks in alert at the guy while the countdown starts going around him.

Neymar can’t help it but join, the collective adrenaline beating the feeling of his sore throat as he screams the numbers. And then, it’s over.

It takes him a few seconds to realize that Leo won and the moment he does he hops out of the dumpster and rushes to his side, paying absolutely no mind to the threats the defeated guy is spitting while he is being dragged away.

Geri is hot on his tail when he finally gets to Leo, who went back to lying on the floor, nose bleeding and eyes closed, sending Neymar’s heart into full cardiac arrest before he sees brown eyes starting back him.

“Looks like we have matching noses now.”

Neymar blinks and lets out a relieved bark of laughter that ends in a coughing fit. Gerard chuckles next to him and pulls Leo into a standing position, as soon as Leo is on his feet Geri hugs him tightly and kisses his temple several times.

Neymar knows by the way that Leo doesn’t even pretend to be bothered that today’s fight was tougher than usual.

He looks elsewhere and lets them have their private moment, pretends he doesn’t listen the ‘ _t’estimo_ ’ that are exchanged and remembers to himself the million stories Leo has told him about Geri and his belly dancing girlfriend.

He is in the middle of picturing their three-way spring wedding when short fingers enclose his wrist.

“You came early.” Leo says, and he looks so much like the Leo Neymar is used to. Calm and powerful and vibrant, that he has to physically restrain himself from pressing him against the nearest wall and just finally, getting on his knees for him.

He opts for something more family friendly, “How about I make you come early instead?”

So, not very family friendly. Neymar’s life was never meant to be rated PG anyway.

Geri gives a bark of laughter, Leo tilts his head to the side in confusion, Neymar wonders if he can fake dropping dead.

“I always come early,” Leo replies. Neymar chokes on air. “I don’t like being late for anything, and there are things that need to be sorted out with the organizer.”

There is something like amusement playing at the corner of Leo’s lips. Neymar has this feeling that he is being laughed at but Leo’s face is not expressive enough for him to be sure.

For some reason this is the encounter that makes Neymar decide that he needs to finally make a move on the compact fighter. He is usually a very confident person, to the point that many would find it ridiculous, but there is something about Leo that makes him nervous and sweaty like a Virgin being asked to hold hands.

Neymar might be many things that could be religious references. But a virgin he is not.

He spends the entire way to his apartment debating with himself how he should warm Leo to the idea that Neymar is potential dating material. With how cold Leo is, he might have to set him literally on fire.

Once they are standing outside of his apartment he turns to Leo and stands close to him. Perhaps closer than Leo might be comfortable with but the closeness is essential for the physical contact Neymar is trying to achieve. And just when he is going to dive for a kiss on the cheek, he starts coughing violently.

Leo takes a large step back, his face something between disgust and worry.

Neymar sighs. The tragic taste of failure, his most hated flavor after bitter cum.

When he is starting to think that all is lost Leo comes closer to him, his arms raised mid-air as if he is not sure what to do with them. Neymar coughs some more and then he feels it.

Leo pats his head like Neymar would pat his dog Poker back home.

Like _‘there there, pal’_ when Neymar wishes it would mean ‘ _let me fuck you raw._ ’

Nevertheless he welcomed the touch as gratefully as he welcomed the air back on his lungs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled so much with the end of this oh my god. Hopefully you like it!

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for the mistakes, English is my second language. Feel free to point them out!
> 
> FEEDBACK would be veryy appreciated!! Please let me know what you thought and if you'd like me to continue. 
> 
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